Fairest
by Akito Souma
Summary: Frodo wasn't the only person that Galadriel tested...


Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings, or anything associated with either the books or movies by that name. I make no money. I'm just trying to have some fun!

Fairest

by me!

"Will you look into the mirror?" Galadriel said, giving Legolas a mischievous smile.

The Mirkwood elf was so calm. She couldn't wait to show him a nasty vision in her magic mirror and watch him get all freaked out. Once he lost his cool, she would have effectively proved that the noble elves of Lothlorien were better than those hick elves from Mirkwood.

Legolas, unsuspecting, shrugged and approached the bowl she had indicated. She smiled at him innocently as she poured water into the bowl; he stared at her, unimpressed by her graceful movements. Inwardly, Galadriel cursed—careful to block her true thoughts from his telepathy rays as the frantic swearing raced through her mind—she'd forgotten, foolishly perhaps, that it wouldn't be so easy to impress Legolas with her beauty as it had been the hobbit, Frodo.

Legolas was quite beautiful and graceful himself. Not more than her, of course! She was famous for her charms, while he was not. Still, the natural graces instilled in him by the Valour would of course have provided him with better defenses against her wily ways. This was a stroke of bad luck that she would simply have to endure.

Galadriel was careful not to reveal her disappointment at his indifference. She would have the upper hand soon enough, she told herself. And after she had triumphed over him he would be more susceptible to her seductiveness…if she decided she even wanted him, that is. Which…if she were to be entirely honest, she couldn't deny that her heart had greatly desired this opportunity for intimate contact with the most gorgeous male of her kind that she had ever seen.

She sighed as she watched him lean over the bowl and gaze into it's depths—the sheer magnitude of his beauty was puzzling and distressing. Elves from Mirkwood were not supposed to be more beautiful than elves from Lothlorien. The Mirkwood elves were nobodies; they were poor, simple forest-dwelling folk with little in the way of technology and a love only for trees, hunting and singing. They had very little wisdom when compared to the elves of other regions, and very few accomplishments to glorify their name. How is it then, she wondered, that a being of such apparent perfection was born to those unworthy black sheep of her race?

She chased such ponderings from her mind, seeing the lofty brow of Legolas furrow in concentration. Her chest heaved with sudden passion at seeing the immense sexiness of the expression, and it took great force of will that only an elf-witch of her age and determination could have mastered in order to banish the wave of desire that swept over her body in response.

It was with that same force of will that she intently focused her psychic powers on penetrating the mind of her formidable cousin 50 times removed from her mother's side. As she broke through his mental barriers quite easily she rejoiced silently—and abruptly stopped rejoicing as she realized that she'd breached his defenses so easily because he was not bothering to block her. Well…small matter!

Undeterred from her mission, she examined eagerly the images flitting through the mind of her beautiful, desirable relative. Er…image, that is. There was only one. And it was of himself. That of his smiling reflection…….Why wasn't he seeing anything?!

Irritated because she couldn't understand his lack of a horrifying vision, she snapped, "Why are you smiling?!"

Legolas turned dreamy eyes on her and blinked slowly. He replied at some great length and when he did, his tone was infuriatingly carefree. "I'm sorry?" He said.

And she was about to retort sharply "You should be!" but realized that he had not even heard her question. Angry now but doing her best to hide it so that she did not appear foolish before one who had less royal blood running through his veins than herself, she repeated her question.

Legolas appeared confused, as though the reason for his smile should be quite obvious. "Because, my lady." He said, his smile growing wider—if it hadn't been so sexy, the queen of Lothlorien would have punched his face in for daring to smile so joyfully when she was so distressed. "That which I see in the mirror, the image of my own stunning appearance, pleases me greatly."

Galadriel lifted her chin. "I know what it is that you saw." She said regally.

Legolas nodded. "That is because I just told you," he said, shamelessly stealing her thunder.

She drew in a sharp breath as she began to lose her hold on her impressive control. "Legolas of Mirkwood, you ignorant fool! Do you know not that your so-dubbed _stunning appearance_ is merely the illusion of an ailing mind? Many a century have I meditated on this day! The face that you see in the Mirror of Truth…the face that captivates you so…is not the reflection of yourself as you believe it to be, but the face of yourself as you **desire** it to be!"

Satisfied, she smiled once more and awaited his surely-pathetic answer.

Legolas took on an expression of great thoughtfulness. His soft voice compelling her to share her wisdom made her heart leap for one sixteenth of a second. "This is the Mirror of Truth, my lady?"

"You are correct." She said proudly, savoring the taste of victory to come.

"Then what I see before me is true." He said simply. "The face I see is my own, the fairest of all elf-kind. Fairer than yourself, fairer than I ever could have believed myself to be had I not seen my exquisite beauty with my own two eyes. It has indeed been revealed to me on this day crowned with dusky-rose glory and prostrated by glistening evening dew…I am the fairest of them all."

"…" For exactly ten seconds Galadriel could not formulate a response that would have done her people justice. At last, she cried out with great passion, "Legolas! You speak a great untruth! May the Valour convict you of your errant ways! This lie pierces me through and through—I am the fairest of them all! Not you! Me!"

Legolas laughed, and the mirth of his spirit rang out through the forest of Lorien, echoing in the fresh and fragrant air. "Lady, such fantasies that you harbor inside your ambitious heart amuse me greatly! Would you dwell on dreams that have no bearing upon the foundations of the earth below us? Behold the power of truth! If you have the courage to bear the pains of the unshielded injustice that is a lie revealed, look into the mirror yourself and speak plainly of what you see."

With an affronted huff, Galadriel complied at once, determined to show her opponent that he spoke folly. As she gazed into the mirror, she opened her mind to the approaching vision—and shrieked with terror as images of death and destruction assaulted her powerful mind. She fell backwards, gasping, and sighed with pleasure as strong arms encircled her body, preventing her fall. Realizing that it was an inferior being that supported her, she quickly recovered and shrugged away from his protective embrace.

"I was just kidding!" She cried, diving valiantly forward to conquer the evil that opposed her.

Galadriel closed her eyes and summoned up the full force of her spirit-power. She opened them and spoke commanding words that rang with awesome authority, silencing all impudent sounds in her forest of Lothlorien. "Mirror of Truth, before I fall, tell me who is the fairest of them all?!"

A long moment of silence followed her demand as she gazed fixedly upon the image that had immediately appeared before her in reply. The image of the fairest being to presently—and perhaps, ever—dwell in Middle-Earth.

Legolas of Mirkwood.

"Noooooooooooooooo!"

Galadriel sank to her knees in agony. Behind her, Legolas smiled.

The mourning of Galadriel, Lady of the Wood, was disturbed by the voice that had first roused her passions on that day. "The time has come for me to reveal myself to you, O Lady of deceit and pride." Legolas announced.

Galadriel whirled around and fixed him with a look conjured up from the shadows—she would later have to repent. Legolas tossed his shiny blond hair, and suddenly, a halo of glowing blue light appeared around him. "I…am Legolas of Mirkwood, yes. But that is not all. I am also, the Prince of Mirkwood! Son of Thranduil!"

"I already knew that." Galadriel hissed. Orcishly.

"Ah…then let me remind you! My noble bloodline is truer than you remember! My father is descended not from the Silvan elves as your failing memory has informed you, but rather from the noblest of all elves—the Sindarin elves! Before you stands one whose blood is bluer than your own, and whose heavenly beauty is rightfully inherited. Kneel before me and be amazed, O Queen of discord!"

Galadriel rose to her feet without hesitation. "I will not!"

"Fine." Legolas said smoothly. "Then stand. I care not. You will bow to me in the end."

"Half-wit! I would never! What is this arrogance that compels you to speak to me so?"

"I am possessed of a fairness beyond the measure of men—of elves—of you! I am fair beyond immortal comprehension! To look upon my face is to despair with love! The heart is but an ache and a sigh before such beauty as my own! Millions of fan girls from an alternate universe are madly in love with me, as are all who are privileged to gaze upon me in this realm of Middle-Earth. It is beauty of the highest sort, demanding honesty to flow like blood in the midst of battle, that compels me to share with you the reality of this unalterable circumstance!"

"You are clueless!" Galadriel shrieked in desperation. How she longed to undo this indignity being done! "You gaze at birds in the sky with a vacant expression! You send your arrows flying past the heads of your companions recklessly! You gaze at the heir of Isildur for inappropriately long, insinuative moments! What do you know of truth and beauty?!"

Legolas fluttered his eyelashes mysteriously. "Fair lady." He said, his voice dripping with immortal sexiness.

"W-what is it?" Galadriel stammered, smitten in spite of herself.

"You want my body." He said matter-of-factly.

"No! That's—I don't want it at all! I want to do nothing with it!"

"You want to stroke my arms…"

Galadriel gazed at the indicated arms—supple, slender limbs of vibrant marble hue, tightly muscled without being bulky—and felt the impulse to drool.

"You want to suck on the ends of my silky, elasticy…hair."

"Oh…"

"You want to lick my eyebrows…"

"Oh, yes!" Galadriel cried, feeling herself ready for penetration. She threw herself on her back, keening…

"Unfortunately, fair lady." Legolas said, a hint of amusement edging into his voice, "all of your charms are lost on an elf as foolish and disillusioned as I. My heart belongs to a hairy, stinking man."

Galadriel stopped keening. She felt her heart break. And her body scream with denied release. She gazed up at Legolas with tears of rage and jealousy in her eyes.

"What…is…his name?" She whispered furiously.

"Ah, but you should know it, my lady. He is, after all, a distant relation of yours—though not by blood."

Galadriel closed her eyes. She saw red. "Elessar!" She screamed; the entire forest heard her cry of fury. When she opened her eyes, she was alone. Her prince had gone.

Many kilometers away, Aragorn awoke from a restless sleep at hearing his elf-name. "I must be hearing things." He murmured, turning over on his side and drifting quickly back into slumber.

Through the dark of the settling night, he was watched avidly by eyes that held perfection in their depths. He was pined after by a heart that was true. And fantasized about with said fantasies containing many graphic details. The fantasies grew as the one who loved him was joined by millions of horny fan girls who gave him new ideas for things he might do to the one he loved, and who secretly loved him in return, although it was never written into the books that told the stories of their lives.

In the end, Aragorn married a she-elf and Legolas sailed away with a hairy, stinking dwarf. But the heart of the Prince of Mirkwood never strayed from loving the King of Gondor. And whenever the drop-dead-gorgeous prince closed his eyes, he went back to that night…where the witch was defeated and Aragorn tossed in fretful sleep as he was watched…by the fairest.

The End.

A/N: I don't know what possessed me to write this. I was feeling really silly at two o'clock in the morning. And my serious stories were going nowhere. Oh well…please review! And thanks so much for reading! I'm sure it was painful…


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